Should have known at 7am when the line extended around the circumference of the building that as the earlier people in line broke down their tents and campsites from the previous night waiting to get a spot near the front door, I might be in for a long day at the local DMV office. Not that this particular office happened to be the only one located in Las Vegas, in fact there probably is somewhere between four and eight within the valley, furthermore technology has caught up even in the government sector which historically known for being ineffiecent and slow Nevada DMV is on the internet where I usually handle any affairs in regards to the re-registration of either of my cars. Unfortunately, they don't handle address changes to driver's licenses online or changes in title, maybe the second one, either way, it was time to trade in my official looking identification for the new and improved Mickey Mouse style ID that looks like something you might have been manufactured in one of those many machines found in carnival midways back in my youth. My junior high school ID looked more official than the new Nevada ID, maybe having the card look so fake would cut down on the ever rampant false identification sites that any high school and college freshmen could easily point you towards, Kinkos could have produced a finer piece of work.
Either way here I am stuck in line with the rest of the Las Vegas masses and I am not talking about your Summerlin, Henderson, or Southern Highlands type crowds, were talking poly-lingual, multicultural, and for the most part working class community of Las Vegas, there is already an older lady behind me complaining about the length of the line, disclaiming, how can there not be any jobs, they need more people in this building to make the line short, even with Obama in office, she cannot seem to get her justice, marooned on this desert island for the next 4 to 6 hours, the first one or two hours out in the sun, which may have induced her disgruntled nature in the first place, her man to the side, seem to be all too familiar with this brand of complaint, doing his best to stay silent in order to appease her momentary anger at the Nevada DMV. I thought does this happen to old people, do they just complain, and I'm not going to call out women, but maybe it is the fact I grew up around a mother who did and still does nothing but bitch about things she refuses to handle or has no control over in the first place.
I did not want to go to the DMV today, but jeez, I have to fly out of town for work, for another week, spent the last week out of town, and the week before that living in a hotel trying to kick a drug habit, so life goes on, yet for some it never is rosy or upbeat, only that dark cloud that seems only hang over them if for no other reason for these type of people to have an excuse, an outlet, a reason to be so negative, hostile, and aggressive all at the same time, this behavior makes me nervous and when it is a stranger things can feel weird enough to the point where you want to tell the person to shut the fuck up, punch them, or leave, not enough psychologist in the world to undo all the angst, conflict, and self pity I sense in these people, my mother especially, make them all run for cover, though her public persona is nothing like the paraniod, schizophrenic android that I witness everytime I visited her or take her shopping, it is like being a kid again after she has come home from work, divorced with no husband or other person to workout her frustrations with work and her life in general, my mother would dump all her emotions in my inbox, lap, brain, turning me into a short fused, quick tempered, distrustful machine. It has taken nearly 40 years to pry myself loose from all of those hollow emotions and at first when I agreed for her to move to Las Vegas I did it with a medium sense of regret, thinking how I spent most of my life distancing myself from her in order to be spared the wrath of spite blossoming from her mouth like a volcanic explosion.
Contrarily, her presence out here up to today has taught some vauable lessons about myself and how much she has been an influence of my behavior towards others, like studying a animal in their natural environment being around my mother has helped understand just how twisted up these dark buds inside me became this bouquet of evil, a golem of spite, hatred, and frozen emotion, in the end her presence led me out of the tunnel from all the crazy shit going on around me within the confines of Las Vegas as well as the world.
Finally inside the DMV where a lady at the door works as controller, receptionist, and bouncer all in one breath, as many would be line cutters make their best attempts with fleeted footed and deviled tongue to make their way past this gatekeeper to the halls of bureaucracy. The woman at the door was no easy target, all the classic mindgames had been given a shot, the Trojan Horse, the old heart attack routine, nothing fazed this lady who sent person after person to the back of the line or out back to their car to mumble to themselves, like insane homeless people do on the streets of downtown Las Vegas, over being denied plotting their next challenge at the gates of Nevada DMV. Have to split, pick this up when I get back, off to the airport, stay tuned.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Grocery Shopping
Well finally have a fridge and sometime to hit up the grocery store, after the past few months of hanging out at the local haunts for my daily dose of meals, it is back to the somewhat weekly ritual of grabbing a shopping cart with busted up wheels and heading back over to the once habitually visited Vons, known as the new Ghetto Vons, not to be mixed up with the Old Ghetto Vons with such diverse characters of homeless, panhandlers, drug addicts, boozers, and insane with generally nothing else to do except everything from accost to entertain the passing customers as they made their way into or out of the grocery store, while ocassionally mustering up enough courage to make a liquor hijacking just before they closed down one side of the store's entrance, in fact due such dilgence and persistance of would be theives, the old ghetto Vons had to permanately shutdown the liquor store side entrance permanently to cut down on the amount of looting from everyone from frat pledges to derrange sociopathic binge drinkers.
The new ghetto Vons is conveniently located near a brand new park in a section of central Las Vegas that is known more for its high level of crime than its proximity to the strip itself. On this block you can find anything from low end narcotics to mindless meth addicted prositutes wandering about in search of some easy money whether from the nearby conventioners of the Las Vegas Convention Center or from the random local on their way home from a long evening cleaning out slot machines at one of the many strip hotels. So there tends to be a lot of action in front of the new Ghetto Vons tonight, your usual assortment of people with little to do, a few guys hanging out with the local rent a cop, whether life long friend or sort of new hanger on who takes up most his time with attempts of talking to marginally and down right nasty looking women who are either bent on gorging down on food or lost in the Las Vegas fantasy of what can you do for me, well checking in at 185 plus with marginal looks still seems to have a way of effecting even the most selective man, just the nature of the male in general, get it in if you can, then deal with the emotions, the attachment, and eventual misunderstandings that will follow.
Of course, someone is going to hit me up for money on the way in, just a classic part of the grocery shopping experience, not much to get around it, the rent a cop don't care, he's from a poor background, so it has been part of his culture from the get go, every since the rent a cop was old enough to sneak into a 7-11 and fill his pockets full of candy then run out before the cashier could stop him, now look at his lot in life, passing time, waiting to be discovered as the next rap star or merely holding down some sort of position, allowing him to pay for the weed, the booze, and maybe a hooker off of Craigslist. I pass the gauntlet of characters on my way in while nearly taking out the sliding door entrance to the place, had a few on the way in, weather too nice now, to consider full time sobriety, have really been putting in the effort to kick all the drugs and for the most part have been successful, no hard stuff or late nights that did not involve something work related to keep me up past 12a, sort of weird getting 8 or 9 hours of sleep then falling into a schedule to maintain the motivation the push further away from my addictive binging tendencies, not really summer party weather yet anyway, even as the Winter Music Conference in Miami ramps up this week, a mecca for decadent behavior where staying for four days straights is fairly ordinary, while turning the mind into the vehicle for hallucingenic behavior, maybe next year.
Inside Vons, have to go through the memory to remember exactly what I usually buy inside the grocery store, not too many things, if only for the fact that cooking takes so much time and after working 12 to 20 hours in a day with the idea of having to do it again the next morning usually puts me in the realm of food that is either pre-prapared or more along the sandwhich level, not much activity, only the process of mashing a couple of things together then getting on with the rest of my evening, involving writing or business stuff, topped off with a solid helping of Facebook or some other means of distraction to further distance myself from dealing with all the real thoughts and tangents floating through my mind at the time. Secondly, I live upstairs now in a condo, so the though of making three trips to the car for groceries has seriously put a limit on exactly what I am willing to carry in one move back to the condo, real singles lifestyle, well if that was the case, eating out every night or not eating all would suffice, make washing dishes, taking out the trash, and establishing a nest of plastic bags all the more irrelavent.
Of course, there are plenty of strange folk in the grocery store tonight, some kid with a blonde mohawk, beat up black cut off jeans, with metal chains, and that Hells Angel's like cutoff sleeves jacket with some old school band banner on the back, like the Addicts, GBH, or the Crass a real throw back to the early 80's which seems to be all the rage lately, another blog for another time, plus all the regualar assortment of folks who are heading home or looking to finish off the rest of the balance of their WIC cards by purchasing goods for other people then trading them in for cigarette, alcohol, meth, or crack money, why just sell the card up front, some people do, given the opportunity, jeez when I was back on that shit, they just had the coupons that looked like money sort of, my mom would drive us clear across the city to an even crappier part of town than we were living in at the time, in order to avoid detection from anyone we might have known, what can you do when you have no family support and the world has turn their back on you, move forward and never forget, let it burn forever, making success all that more sweet, but humble at the same time, while dodging the sell out, the ever prevalent sell out which has accomplished task of melting down more brains in this world than all the most powerful drugs combined, but every economy needs its consumers so fall in line.
Get hit on by some crackwhore with a shovel butt, checking me out as if I might hit her up with some money or something she can pawn to score a twenty rock which might only end up being a ten, yet as long she gets that taste, that smell, and crackling sensation of a hit, everything will workout in the end, cuts down on the food bill as well. Otherwise, pretty slow night in the store and I am out of there in ten minutes, pushing my cart pass the assortment of magazines ranging from Men's Fitness to WWE magazine, there is a subculture for everything but the fact publishers still put out real hard copy paper based material in the 21st century seems to me nothing but a losing proposition, the internet has taken the lead in the information age and will not relinquish the title no matter how many steriod filled actors you put on the cover of a magazine. Aisle after aisle there is an over abundance of processed food to induce the most highly dose of dopamine from the indulgence of carb based foods, it reminds me of the scene in The Hurt Locker where the main character comes back to the US after his tour in Iraq to go grocery shopping, he is in the cereal section surrounded by two lanes eight feet high full of cereal, this is what freedom has been fought for, the priviledge to walk down a shopping lane with one hundred different choice of what to eat for breakfast, feels overwhelming, Trix, Coco Pebbles, or Lucky Charms, not too much in the health department and for what that stuff costs nowadays, I have the feeling there may be something more in those cereals than merely sugar that keeps parents bending their will when the kids start screaming about having to get the generic cereal knockoff of all the greatest and hip cereals of the moment. It is fairly late in the evening, stockers are doing a bit of maintence on the products, bringing the backstock to the front in order to give a more picturesque look as if preparing the location for a scene in a movie or some other sort of advertising vehicle, but not tonight, time to move past all the people over at the dollar DVD rack and various others arguing over the merits of 22 ounce malt liqour beer versus the typical white trash 12 pack. Once in line, a cashier is posted at the register sitting down on a stool, spreadout sort of like Jabba the Hut and here I see where our collective decadent ways have taken this country to a place of overweight, unconscious, and unconcerned lifestyles, craving consumption in any format, for no reason, programmed to continue purchasing, eating, and driving waste out into the oceans of the world. This cashier is a prime example, could be considered a victim or nothing more than a willing participant as her girth lays out upon her hips like a laid in bean bag, at least she can reach over and bag the groceries, do not expect her to get up to put them in the cart, so I oblige, while still wondering how we have let people, ourselves, and society come to this point, where everyone is afraid to say, enough, do we have to be slaves to this system of having three beers everyday, honking down all the drugs people can get their hands on, or simply smoking themselves into a safe shelter far from the legions of other people who have locked themselves into the cubicle culture of America, unwilling to participate in the change that is taking place in the world without them, the future is passing this country by, no one really cares, the curtain is closing, will there be an Act Two for America or will this soverign nation get globbled up into the Web 2.0 that is here now. As I grab my groceries to leave I look over my back at the local cretins sizing up my wallet and my attitude, automatically, hostility masks my face, signalling to any would be predator that I am not worth the time, effort, and injury getting with me shall involved, back to the safe confines of my gated community, later.
The new ghetto Vons is conveniently located near a brand new park in a section of central Las Vegas that is known more for its high level of crime than its proximity to the strip itself. On this block you can find anything from low end narcotics to mindless meth addicted prositutes wandering about in search of some easy money whether from the nearby conventioners of the Las Vegas Convention Center or from the random local on their way home from a long evening cleaning out slot machines at one of the many strip hotels. So there tends to be a lot of action in front of the new Ghetto Vons tonight, your usual assortment of people with little to do, a few guys hanging out with the local rent a cop, whether life long friend or sort of new hanger on who takes up most his time with attempts of talking to marginally and down right nasty looking women who are either bent on gorging down on food or lost in the Las Vegas fantasy of what can you do for me, well checking in at 185 plus with marginal looks still seems to have a way of effecting even the most selective man, just the nature of the male in general, get it in if you can, then deal with the emotions, the attachment, and eventual misunderstandings that will follow.
Of course, someone is going to hit me up for money on the way in, just a classic part of the grocery shopping experience, not much to get around it, the rent a cop don't care, he's from a poor background, so it has been part of his culture from the get go, every since the rent a cop was old enough to sneak into a 7-11 and fill his pockets full of candy then run out before the cashier could stop him, now look at his lot in life, passing time, waiting to be discovered as the next rap star or merely holding down some sort of position, allowing him to pay for the weed, the booze, and maybe a hooker off of Craigslist. I pass the gauntlet of characters on my way in while nearly taking out the sliding door entrance to the place, had a few on the way in, weather too nice now, to consider full time sobriety, have really been putting in the effort to kick all the drugs and for the most part have been successful, no hard stuff or late nights that did not involve something work related to keep me up past 12a, sort of weird getting 8 or 9 hours of sleep then falling into a schedule to maintain the motivation the push further away from my addictive binging tendencies, not really summer party weather yet anyway, even as the Winter Music Conference in Miami ramps up this week, a mecca for decadent behavior where staying for four days straights is fairly ordinary, while turning the mind into the vehicle for hallucingenic behavior, maybe next year.
Inside Vons, have to go through the memory to remember exactly what I usually buy inside the grocery store, not too many things, if only for the fact that cooking takes so much time and after working 12 to 20 hours in a day with the idea of having to do it again the next morning usually puts me in the realm of food that is either pre-prapared or more along the sandwhich level, not much activity, only the process of mashing a couple of things together then getting on with the rest of my evening, involving writing or business stuff, topped off with a solid helping of Facebook or some other means of distraction to further distance myself from dealing with all the real thoughts and tangents floating through my mind at the time. Secondly, I live upstairs now in a condo, so the though of making three trips to the car for groceries has seriously put a limit on exactly what I am willing to carry in one move back to the condo, real singles lifestyle, well if that was the case, eating out every night or not eating all would suffice, make washing dishes, taking out the trash, and establishing a nest of plastic bags all the more irrelavent.
Of course, there are plenty of strange folk in the grocery store tonight, some kid with a blonde mohawk, beat up black cut off jeans, with metal chains, and that Hells Angel's like cutoff sleeves jacket with some old school band banner on the back, like the Addicts, GBH, or the Crass a real throw back to the early 80's which seems to be all the rage lately, another blog for another time, plus all the regualar assortment of folks who are heading home or looking to finish off the rest of the balance of their WIC cards by purchasing goods for other people then trading them in for cigarette, alcohol, meth, or crack money, why just sell the card up front, some people do, given the opportunity, jeez when I was back on that shit, they just had the coupons that looked like money sort of, my mom would drive us clear across the city to an even crappier part of town than we were living in at the time, in order to avoid detection from anyone we might have known, what can you do when you have no family support and the world has turn their back on you, move forward and never forget, let it burn forever, making success all that more sweet, but humble at the same time, while dodging the sell out, the ever prevalent sell out which has accomplished task of melting down more brains in this world than all the most powerful drugs combined, but every economy needs its consumers so fall in line.
Get hit on by some crackwhore with a shovel butt, checking me out as if I might hit her up with some money or something she can pawn to score a twenty rock which might only end up being a ten, yet as long she gets that taste, that smell, and crackling sensation of a hit, everything will workout in the end, cuts down on the food bill as well. Otherwise, pretty slow night in the store and I am out of there in ten minutes, pushing my cart pass the assortment of magazines ranging from Men's Fitness to WWE magazine, there is a subculture for everything but the fact publishers still put out real hard copy paper based material in the 21st century seems to me nothing but a losing proposition, the internet has taken the lead in the information age and will not relinquish the title no matter how many steriod filled actors you put on the cover of a magazine. Aisle after aisle there is an over abundance of processed food to induce the most highly dose of dopamine from the indulgence of carb based foods, it reminds me of the scene in The Hurt Locker where the main character comes back to the US after his tour in Iraq to go grocery shopping, he is in the cereal section surrounded by two lanes eight feet high full of cereal, this is what freedom has been fought for, the priviledge to walk down a shopping lane with one hundred different choice of what to eat for breakfast, feels overwhelming, Trix, Coco Pebbles, or Lucky Charms, not too much in the health department and for what that stuff costs nowadays, I have the feeling there may be something more in those cereals than merely sugar that keeps parents bending their will when the kids start screaming about having to get the generic cereal knockoff of all the greatest and hip cereals of the moment. It is fairly late in the evening, stockers are doing a bit of maintence on the products, bringing the backstock to the front in order to give a more picturesque look as if preparing the location for a scene in a movie or some other sort of advertising vehicle, but not tonight, time to move past all the people over at the dollar DVD rack and various others arguing over the merits of 22 ounce malt liqour beer versus the typical white trash 12 pack. Once in line, a cashier is posted at the register sitting down on a stool, spreadout sort of like Jabba the Hut and here I see where our collective decadent ways have taken this country to a place of overweight, unconscious, and unconcerned lifestyles, craving consumption in any format, for no reason, programmed to continue purchasing, eating, and driving waste out into the oceans of the world. This cashier is a prime example, could be considered a victim or nothing more than a willing participant as her girth lays out upon her hips like a laid in bean bag, at least she can reach over and bag the groceries, do not expect her to get up to put them in the cart, so I oblige, while still wondering how we have let people, ourselves, and society come to this point, where everyone is afraid to say, enough, do we have to be slaves to this system of having three beers everyday, honking down all the drugs people can get their hands on, or simply smoking themselves into a safe shelter far from the legions of other people who have locked themselves into the cubicle culture of America, unwilling to participate in the change that is taking place in the world without them, the future is passing this country by, no one really cares, the curtain is closing, will there be an Act Two for America or will this soverign nation get globbled up into the Web 2.0 that is here now. As I grab my groceries to leave I look over my back at the local cretins sizing up my wallet and my attitude, automatically, hostility masks my face, signalling to any would be predator that I am not worth the time, effort, and injury getting with me shall involved, back to the safe confines of my gated community, later.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Saint Patrick's Wrap Up
Not as fun as planned but that tends to happen when you get a thousand self conscious drunks wrapped up in side a temporarily fence interment camp. Already drinking at 5pm, so this will end fairly ugly if I don't curb the booze, have to fight off the constant harrassment to do shots of Jamisons and Irish Car Bombs, have another friend who is not into partying at all, so the momentum has begun to stall, no one wants to talk to anyone, all the hot girls are in two camps tonight, the first is an assortment of lesbians who are more friendly that anyone else so far, much more entertaining, get some advice from one of the lesbians about a blue eyed brunette sitting at another table and tells me the woman looks boring, how profound, how true. The other camp happened to involve the blue eyed brunette who was with the usual amatuer work week cubicle crowd who take advantage of such days like St. Patrick's Day to get awful wasted, one such example was a particular blonde with a looked that had seen better days but still retaining a fair bit of sexiness, sort of like a drunk sorority girl, something to do, someone to do, not much thought beyond that, share a cigerette with her, as one of the knob geek guys in her group tries to tell me to beat it that she's not interest, well she's leaning on me pretty hard, either this blonde is going to fall down or has a hand on my ass as a sign of general friendliness. I have trouble taking this guy seriously, but have drank enough tonight to entertain the thought of fighting, have done it a couple times in the past few months and is not as much of journey to reach mentally.
The paddy wagon is parked outside waiting for the likes of me, begging to take me downtown, it has been actively seeking my presence for a full time position in the penal system. Not tonight, so I talk to the lesbians some more, but am pissed, smoking the last of a cigarette, no way I am going to let some douche bag losers get over on me so I head back over to the one who was giving me shit, figuring at least a few of the lesbians will jump in, so I call the guys out but no one seems to care, they have hot chicks I am just some old fuck hangin with some dykes and a bunch of guys with no game, what did they care, everyone ignored my ravings, continuing the partying without me, suckered again, punked me twice, now making me look like some loser rookie no pussy having chump and they would be right, defeated I went back over to my friends who are wasted entertaining themselves with the general crowd by picking out fat or unattractive women daring each other to go over and put a move on them, not much fun, so I wander off and attempt to strike up conversations with anyone, just to get a feel of the crowd, which did not add up to much, outside of the ocassional weirdo like myself, many people sang along with the Irish band up on stage at the moment, large choruses of Up Yours, repeated over and over again, I did not get it, understand the song or the context, unconcerned as well, went and got stoned instead, helped to put up a barrier between myself and the crowd, now there was nothing stopping me from talking to anyone, most people sort of put up half conversation while trying to figure a way to get away.
Fairly messed up by now, already alienated a friend's female acquaintences, surprising, it usual takes a strong cocktail of substance abuse, alcoholism, and directness to send them running to the hills, too intense, crazy, and insane, my behavior, desire, or general wisdom of living the glamorous life, a place people go once a year, a place where I check in for work on almost any given day whether at the job, at home, or on the road. It follows me constantly banging on my front door for attention. Ran into someone I use to party with back in the late 90's, how this guy seeked me out was beyond a sense of randomness. He looked as fucked up, wired, and sleepless as I remember him when he would nearly overdose on any drugs he could get his hands on, then curl up in a corner and hallucinate till the sun came up, paralyized like a statue as if his head might explode at any given moment, then would suddenly disappear, vanish until the following weekend where his ritual would be performed all over again, successive week after week until the club burned down and everyone went their seperate ways. Now he was sizing up to be another satellite in Miller's junkie club, who hit me up to party when things get slow and lately times have been anything but slow, so after the casual conversation consisting mostly of party stories, he wants to be dailed into the club so I give him my number then shuffle him off on another friend as I try to lock down some woman tonight, not much success so far but some nights can turnout that way, best thing is to not let it effect your mind, let it destroy the idea of going out and discovering something about the public, about people, and about myself most of all, not everyone will respond, this world has got so fucked up lately making most everyone defensive or completely uninterested, animatronic, emptying all the life from their face, even in the most attractive of clothing can't disguise, transparent, hollow, and hidden but there are lessons in those types of people too and they are not always pretty. Time to leave, let the night crew of posers roll in with their green shirts, green thigh high stockings and green beads, done with the five dollar beers for the evening, rest up for a better and not so popular reason to get wasted.
The paddy wagon is parked outside waiting for the likes of me, begging to take me downtown, it has been actively seeking my presence for a full time position in the penal system. Not tonight, so I talk to the lesbians some more, but am pissed, smoking the last of a cigarette, no way I am going to let some douche bag losers get over on me so I head back over to the one who was giving me shit, figuring at least a few of the lesbians will jump in, so I call the guys out but no one seems to care, they have hot chicks I am just some old fuck hangin with some dykes and a bunch of guys with no game, what did they care, everyone ignored my ravings, continuing the partying without me, suckered again, punked me twice, now making me look like some loser rookie no pussy having chump and they would be right, defeated I went back over to my friends who are wasted entertaining themselves with the general crowd by picking out fat or unattractive women daring each other to go over and put a move on them, not much fun, so I wander off and attempt to strike up conversations with anyone, just to get a feel of the crowd, which did not add up to much, outside of the ocassional weirdo like myself, many people sang along with the Irish band up on stage at the moment, large choruses of Up Yours, repeated over and over again, I did not get it, understand the song or the context, unconcerned as well, went and got stoned instead, helped to put up a barrier between myself and the crowd, now there was nothing stopping me from talking to anyone, most people sort of put up half conversation while trying to figure a way to get away.
Fairly messed up by now, already alienated a friend's female acquaintences, surprising, it usual takes a strong cocktail of substance abuse, alcoholism, and directness to send them running to the hills, too intense, crazy, and insane, my behavior, desire, or general wisdom of living the glamorous life, a place people go once a year, a place where I check in for work on almost any given day whether at the job, at home, or on the road. It follows me constantly banging on my front door for attention. Ran into someone I use to party with back in the late 90's, how this guy seeked me out was beyond a sense of randomness. He looked as fucked up, wired, and sleepless as I remember him when he would nearly overdose on any drugs he could get his hands on, then curl up in a corner and hallucinate till the sun came up, paralyized like a statue as if his head might explode at any given moment, then would suddenly disappear, vanish until the following weekend where his ritual would be performed all over again, successive week after week until the club burned down and everyone went their seperate ways. Now he was sizing up to be another satellite in Miller's junkie club, who hit me up to party when things get slow and lately times have been anything but slow, so after the casual conversation consisting mostly of party stories, he wants to be dailed into the club so I give him my number then shuffle him off on another friend as I try to lock down some woman tonight, not much success so far but some nights can turnout that way, best thing is to not let it effect your mind, let it destroy the idea of going out and discovering something about the public, about people, and about myself most of all, not everyone will respond, this world has got so fucked up lately making most everyone defensive or completely uninterested, animatronic, emptying all the life from their face, even in the most attractive of clothing can't disguise, transparent, hollow, and hidden but there are lessons in those types of people too and they are not always pretty. Time to leave, let the night crew of posers roll in with their green shirts, green thigh high stockings and green beads, done with the five dollar beers for the evening, rest up for a better and not so popular reason to get wasted.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Cut the Ties
50th Post, not exactly how I planned this thing when I began it, should have hit 50 posts a long time ago, but someone once said life was meant to be lived, so go out there and do it and in the past 3 months or so since this blog has been in existence, it has gone on hiatus more times than the most doped soaked rock band ever in existence, whether due to creative differences within inside myself, binging, or attempting to escape the shackles that gave birth to my new writing platform, I hope it has been if anything, eye opening, how about fun, let's have some fun, get out there, tear the strip to piece, truly find out what makes this place, tick beside all the usual stuff we read about on the internet and view on television. Most people who live in Vegas know there is another entire set of consequences as well as benefits that come with having a solid knowledge of the nocturnal beast who never sleeps, only migrating underground during sleep deprived days at work or weekend long speed runs to the shores of insanity where Pleasure Island and the Sirens of Havoc demand, blood, interaction, and souls, this entity needs souls, victims, stories, and once and a while redemption, whether by the noose or overdose, the end is never too far as I spend my time wondering how to maximize my IRA, looking over stocks, getting older, if a bit wiser, running out time, going business class, watching too many people I work with who are ten to twenty years older than I am, forced to work with nothing in the bank, is this the person I will eventually end up as, the old fool, in a sea of young pussy, pure drugs, and unlimited credit. One can only hope.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Flat
Do not seem to feel that impending doom, my equalibrium spinning out of control, wait, there it goes as if I'm am flipping head over heel as I sit here and write this in my chair.No amount of distraction can keep me from the task of writing, even being sleep deprived does not slow me down, maybe only a lack of desire to think about, digest, and interpet my environment, call it being lazy or sometimes there being an empty space where I almost feel content with life, not in the usual way of "Oh, look there, he's a bit better isn't he, nearly social, about ready for test trails with the public, but let's be weary, all those civil suits and political favors to keep this one out of trouble. A right handful is this one." On my best days, truer words could not be spoken, tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day an ocassion for nearly everyone to binge on alcohol without fear of reprecussions outside of the random gun play or shuttle service down the local police precinct.
In my latest mission to lay low from such potential disaster, there does not look to be much hope on skirting around the first real boozefest of the year, not counting Valentine's Day for those broken hearts who need chemicals and alcohol to mend their fragile souls. No St. Patrick's Day is the first real nice weather in Vegas outdoor opportunity to usher a whole calender of debauchery on par with seasonal Roman outings. I'm looking at all this in the face, wondering what my future holds for me, how many more of these rotations in the party club do I have left or really even desire, is it even possible for me to stand around a bunch overt amatuer drunks without breaking down in order to show them how real professionals get down, I mean, how does one become a professional party machine, is corporate sponsorship necessary? Certainly does not hurt, look at the most famous rock and rollers, dead or alive, someone paying the bills, never got in the way moralistically with ingesting enough cocaine and heroin to support the economies of many third world countries, so as I rot my liver a bit further, after making the futile effort of getting some sleep, eating some vitamins, and working out, I can put on some green, head down to party HQ and if nothing else do some recon on the nature of the holiday ritual, where suits suck it up the next day, head down on desk, hidden by some anonymous cubicle or they sleep right through their alarm, maybe call in sick, anyway this is all after effect, the moment is what shall be worth investigation, nothing else and tomorrow I will make every attempt to do so, later.
In my latest mission to lay low from such potential disaster, there does not look to be much hope on skirting around the first real boozefest of the year, not counting Valentine's Day for those broken hearts who need chemicals and alcohol to mend their fragile souls. No St. Patrick's Day is the first real nice weather in Vegas outdoor opportunity to usher a whole calender of debauchery on par with seasonal Roman outings. I'm looking at all this in the face, wondering what my future holds for me, how many more of these rotations in the party club do I have left or really even desire, is it even possible for me to stand around a bunch overt amatuer drunks without breaking down in order to show them how real professionals get down, I mean, how does one become a professional party machine, is corporate sponsorship necessary? Certainly does not hurt, look at the most famous rock and rollers, dead or alive, someone paying the bills, never got in the way moralistically with ingesting enough cocaine and heroin to support the economies of many third world countries, so as I rot my liver a bit further, after making the futile effort of getting some sleep, eating some vitamins, and working out, I can put on some green, head down to party HQ and if nothing else do some recon on the nature of the holiday ritual, where suits suck it up the next day, head down on desk, hidden by some anonymous cubicle or they sleep right through their alarm, maybe call in sick, anyway this is all after effect, the moment is what shall be worth investigation, nothing else and tomorrow I will make every attempt to do so, later.
Only The Lonely
In an effort that would have made the characters in Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest proud, I used an increasing intellectual strength to generate a loophole in my current state of house arrest, sans partying, sans alcohol, drugs, and the entertainment of the public at large. So here I am back in familiar haunts like a 38 year old at a 20 year reunion, everyone looks slightly recognizable, however the cold harsh reality of time has either worn them rail thin or unslightly like a half deflated blow up doll, hanging, sagging, a victim of gravity's pull. The bar looks to be rather segragated tonight on the opposite side of me are the less desirable women playing video poker, sipping on mixed drinks talking amongst each other scoping out all the cool guys in the middle of the bar who wear the lastest in unisexual clothing, covered in tattoos, and attempting to present themselves with a cool reserved for the likes of David Bowie, Lou Reed, and Dennis Hopper. These posers are pretty fucking annoying cause they like to hog the attention of the female bar staff who in themselves are somewhere between 6's to 8's, really depending on how much I have had to drink and what other women might be in the bar, these girls are around, pretty much have been hired to entertain the mostly male clientele who huants this place with such regularity for just such reasons, not much else for these middle aged grey hairs and corporate suits who seem to fit in nowhere else.
At this bar, there is no real theme, set schedule of appearance, velvet rope or steriod filled doorman to check hipness credentials, all sorts fill the place tonight, seperated by socio cultured difference via paycheck, reality television, and social networking. The barmaids are dressed in semi regulated stripper gear with a dash of naughty school girl, appears to be the heavy trend in Las Vegas now that the sex, err, stripping, mean err, entertainment industry has gone down the tubes from the turn in the economy. Plenty of these women have found their way into the bartending industry, with mysterious backgrounds and stories that make little sense, cautious, bred that way from so many years of leecherous men trying to dupe them into sexual activity and some succeeded. Low cut plaid skirts, knee high knit leggings, corsets and bra for the less attractive types who have to fight for the attention of this crowd of misfits who look to work on their lines of talking to women in order to find out what works and what doesn't with the remote hope they might somehow get a date with one of the bartenders and go from there.
The place is an English bar of sorts, like an inn, there is a large group of British folk whether they now lived in Vegas or were merely visiting could not immediately determined. They just carried on in their usual brash behavior mocking one of the corset and bra barmaids who did not have the relavent sense of refill the continous conga line of empty beer pints lining the bar, so the barmaid's name was Barbie, one of those real sort of bubble head names these Brits had no problem lampooning throughout the night, little did these guys give a shit about these barmaids whom to them must have looked like a stray pack of hookers, a few whistles and cat calls later, a brief battle began with a stolen Iphone which was not noticed for at least a half hour, where
Barbie began hacking into the phone, linking the guy's Facebook page with all sorts of Gay porn, how creative, topped off with a healthy dose of middle fingers and fuck you's, generating all sorts of laughter, I was in tears, cause the only person really taking all this seriously was the knob muscle male bartender who was off talking with one of the locals at the bar who interjected in the most masculine way, "Is everything okay?" as if this steriod filled douche bag could handle this small crew of Brits, let alone your average rouge drunk, he was not good for much, except cockblocking me and other guys at the bar, showing off his lame ass tats to semi attractive girls at the bar, this whole tattoo thing has gone off the chart, the ultimate statement in retardation, Mauri, ritual, or old school WWII style tattoo art is one thing, but the lengths people will go to get laid astounds me.
There is a new barmaid in tonight, I personally have not been on a fieldtrip for a few months to this particular bar, from work, rehab, and lockdown, there has not been much of a reason to come down here, looks like a new set of talent, so to speak, this woman is one of them with the customary arm tattoo that has become the new trademark of that woman in transition from intelligence to the slow burn of transforming into the safe landing of beautification in which concludes with finding a man who will objectify her and pay handsomely for the opportunity to do so and within a bit of conversation over the night this entire concept plays itself out, if only for me striking up a conversation with a guy who was a medical officer of sorts who knew the woman as a former paramedic, hot female paramedics who can't handle that, all for mouth to mouth resusication, funny how the smallest of threads once pulled open up a world of a person whom I do find attractive and interested in, if just for the fact she is hiding her intelligence behind a caked on facade of this week's hot slut, it really was funny, how this woman arrived at this place serving drinks tonight, married to some guy who gave her whatever she wanted, well, why work here then, even if two nights a week.
I thought about this as this woman let's called her Sandra, who is shmoozing it up with some baffon in a double chin and suit, typical middle management knob who tries get over on his off the rack outfit, otherwise they are wearing that Miami Vice sports coat look, come on, god damn fucking fashion contest here, get out the runway, line up, show some ass, grab your ankles and let some dyke fuck you in the ass in order to get some action, does not add up, I will not be party to it, party to these new rules of metrosexualism, bending my will, going against this outright assualt by women to turn the table on guys by making them jump through all the bullshit hoops, from working out, tanning, dieting, and shopping, such a waste of effort, yet looking at the cool club over in the middle of the bar they have no doubt bought into the cause and for it, this generation is lost in attaining any sense of individuality. Nothing but pock marked robots fighting over the same dead flesh, same rotting corspe, same momentary illusion that fades into a viscious circle of debt, dumbness, and paralysis. Trying to flirt with the new barmaid a bit, but I play by my own rules, she expects some asskissing, I know the game, but choose to ignore the standard route, have to fuck with them a bit, send them away, ignore them, why, who knows, it works, it is cruel, pointless, and stupid, still, must be done, lure them into the realm of psychological warfare, short curcuit all those warning signals that go off when approaching a smooth talker, if nothing else I need the practice, get my game back together, not quite that easy when turning 40 in another month, but looking around here, there was not much compettion, I might not be 26 anymore, but since that time have learned a thing or two about people, our society, and most of all myself.
Walk without fear into the fire or was that fire walk with me, either way does not take much to put a hook in, play around, she tries to outflank me by going over and talking to the tattoo douche bags and the suit, fine, play that game, so I strike up a conversation with the medical officer sitting next to me who happen to roll in on his day off, this is where the bridge between anonymity and Sandra come together and within a half an hour I can pretty much size her up as a person who has given up on her passion, dreams, and future, punishing herself with a prison sentence as a barmaid in some off the strip tavern, wheels spinning as she gets older and older, till the dreams are all gone and nothing is left but survival, Sandra can see this off in the horizon and has started to tear a bit when talking about her former career as a medic, the medical officer told me she was a good one and was a shame she had ended up here, the two of them swapped stories of the old days. There was something still there behind that Vegas facade, a real human being peering over the wall this city builds around people without regret, fear, or consent, it is a long way down that wall to the other side, ground nearly out of sight, Sandra hesitated wondering if the impact upon landing was worth the risk of being free from this cycle of physical surface existence. Would she jump, her eyes snapped back into a drone like gaze so familiar with so many people here, I knew she would not.
At this bar, there is no real theme, set schedule of appearance, velvet rope or steriod filled doorman to check hipness credentials, all sorts fill the place tonight, seperated by socio cultured difference via paycheck, reality television, and social networking. The barmaids are dressed in semi regulated stripper gear with a dash of naughty school girl, appears to be the heavy trend in Las Vegas now that the sex, err, stripping, mean err, entertainment industry has gone down the tubes from the turn in the economy. Plenty of these women have found their way into the bartending industry, with mysterious backgrounds and stories that make little sense, cautious, bred that way from so many years of leecherous men trying to dupe them into sexual activity and some succeeded. Low cut plaid skirts, knee high knit leggings, corsets and bra for the less attractive types who have to fight for the attention of this crowd of misfits who look to work on their lines of talking to women in order to find out what works and what doesn't with the remote hope they might somehow get a date with one of the bartenders and go from there.
The place is an English bar of sorts, like an inn, there is a large group of British folk whether they now lived in Vegas or were merely visiting could not immediately determined. They just carried on in their usual brash behavior mocking one of the corset and bra barmaids who did not have the relavent sense of refill the continous conga line of empty beer pints lining the bar, so the barmaid's name was Barbie, one of those real sort of bubble head names these Brits had no problem lampooning throughout the night, little did these guys give a shit about these barmaids whom to them must have looked like a stray pack of hookers, a few whistles and cat calls later, a brief battle began with a stolen Iphone which was not noticed for at least a half hour, where
Barbie began hacking into the phone, linking the guy's Facebook page with all sorts of Gay porn, how creative, topped off with a healthy dose of middle fingers and fuck you's, generating all sorts of laughter, I was in tears, cause the only person really taking all this seriously was the knob muscle male bartender who was off talking with one of the locals at the bar who interjected in the most masculine way, "Is everything okay?" as if this steriod filled douche bag could handle this small crew of Brits, let alone your average rouge drunk, he was not good for much, except cockblocking me and other guys at the bar, showing off his lame ass tats to semi attractive girls at the bar, this whole tattoo thing has gone off the chart, the ultimate statement in retardation, Mauri, ritual, or old school WWII style tattoo art is one thing, but the lengths people will go to get laid astounds me.
There is a new barmaid in tonight, I personally have not been on a fieldtrip for a few months to this particular bar, from work, rehab, and lockdown, there has not been much of a reason to come down here, looks like a new set of talent, so to speak, this woman is one of them with the customary arm tattoo that has become the new trademark of that woman in transition from intelligence to the slow burn of transforming into the safe landing of beautification in which concludes with finding a man who will objectify her and pay handsomely for the opportunity to do so and within a bit of conversation over the night this entire concept plays itself out, if only for me striking up a conversation with a guy who was a medical officer of sorts who knew the woman as a former paramedic, hot female paramedics who can't handle that, all for mouth to mouth resusication, funny how the smallest of threads once pulled open up a world of a person whom I do find attractive and interested in, if just for the fact she is hiding her intelligence behind a caked on facade of this week's hot slut, it really was funny, how this woman arrived at this place serving drinks tonight, married to some guy who gave her whatever she wanted, well, why work here then, even if two nights a week.
I thought about this as this woman let's called her Sandra, who is shmoozing it up with some baffon in a double chin and suit, typical middle management knob who tries get over on his off the rack outfit, otherwise they are wearing that Miami Vice sports coat look, come on, god damn fucking fashion contest here, get out the runway, line up, show some ass, grab your ankles and let some dyke fuck you in the ass in order to get some action, does not add up, I will not be party to it, party to these new rules of metrosexualism, bending my will, going against this outright assualt by women to turn the table on guys by making them jump through all the bullshit hoops, from working out, tanning, dieting, and shopping, such a waste of effort, yet looking at the cool club over in the middle of the bar they have no doubt bought into the cause and for it, this generation is lost in attaining any sense of individuality. Nothing but pock marked robots fighting over the same dead flesh, same rotting corspe, same momentary illusion that fades into a viscious circle of debt, dumbness, and paralysis. Trying to flirt with the new barmaid a bit, but I play by my own rules, she expects some asskissing, I know the game, but choose to ignore the standard route, have to fuck with them a bit, send them away, ignore them, why, who knows, it works, it is cruel, pointless, and stupid, still, must be done, lure them into the realm of psychological warfare, short curcuit all those warning signals that go off when approaching a smooth talker, if nothing else I need the practice, get my game back together, not quite that easy when turning 40 in another month, but looking around here, there was not much compettion, I might not be 26 anymore, but since that time have learned a thing or two about people, our society, and most of all myself.
Walk without fear into the fire or was that fire walk with me, either way does not take much to put a hook in, play around, she tries to outflank me by going over and talking to the tattoo douche bags and the suit, fine, play that game, so I strike up a conversation with the medical officer sitting next to me who happen to roll in on his day off, this is where the bridge between anonymity and Sandra come together and within a half an hour I can pretty much size her up as a person who has given up on her passion, dreams, and future, punishing herself with a prison sentence as a barmaid in some off the strip tavern, wheels spinning as she gets older and older, till the dreams are all gone and nothing is left but survival, Sandra can see this off in the horizon and has started to tear a bit when talking about her former career as a medic, the medical officer told me she was a good one and was a shame she had ended up here, the two of them swapped stories of the old days. There was something still there behind that Vegas facade, a real human being peering over the wall this city builds around people without regret, fear, or consent, it is a long way down that wall to the other side, ground nearly out of sight, Sandra hesitated wondering if the impact upon landing was worth the risk of being free from this cycle of physical surface existence. Would she jump, her eyes snapped back into a drone like gaze so familiar with so many people here, I knew she would not.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Victims Family
Problems wash up on the beach and the tide never takes them back, this is what she thinks, might be right, but this general attitude rules her life, hidden in a decaying facade, a mask which has finally begun to crack from wear, like any ancient statue, glorified in its elegant antiquity, yet nothing more than spoils to the victors, time has worn away any sense of self, now there is only a motivation to exist in panic mode at the sign of crisis, turn the knife away, into any other being within stabbing distance, rage, violence, and hatred fuels her defenses to keep that self contained fragile state of mind from collapsing like the buildings of Haitian earthquakes. I don't even know what to say, after a life time of knowing this woman, surprised when she finally confided in me her totally, her addictive nature becoming a magnet for alcohol and gambling binging time to throw it all away, why care, no one will provide for her, a sanctuary for her sanity, a fortress around her heart, a legion for a call to arms for security. No, there is nothing left, not after all the marriages, the kids, the decades, the trends, good music and bad, the lack of sleep, the fights, the blurry boozed soaked career, left to wither, everything to die, a total removal of emotion. This was her reward for outlasting a society, much stronger, more intent on the complete destruction of the non citizen, the non human being, the anti robot, those not fortunate to inherit the social structure to know right from wrong and willingness to not fight against the current heirarchy, but embrace it like a long lost friend or long time passionate lover, no this woman would be offered no such grace, no benefit, left only to be mowed over into the twilight, another seed in the ground, to join the masses who live below in dust and mud with nothing more to occupy them than the burrowing worms seeking shelter and a brief bit of company with a bit intent to consume on her soon to cadaverous corpse.
If not already, droned, worn out, with no response, what does it matter now, she has realized this and is a few strands from letting everything fall apart for a quick trip to the asylum where she will be bathed and cared for like some leper, some invalid, no more bills, health care issues, or taxes, a ward of the state, so much like her own mother, orphaned in her youth from a band of crazed wanderers who spent more time in prison and the looney bin then in school, this was the mold from where she had been casted, free spending, unconcerned of consequence, bars became her education, her daycare, and mentor, though this woman did not fall prey to such temptations, the nature of libation became a mechanism of self defense, a way to ward off the spirits of culture, of natural selection, of having to care, this veil served as protection but in some ways aphyxiated her spiritual, personal, and social growth, soon enough she became an elderly woman who could no longer dream of tomorrow or even worry about today, but only think of how one day there would be no more sunshine, fear, need for wealth, suddenly everything would just end.
If not already, droned, worn out, with no response, what does it matter now, she has realized this and is a few strands from letting everything fall apart for a quick trip to the asylum where she will be bathed and cared for like some leper, some invalid, no more bills, health care issues, or taxes, a ward of the state, so much like her own mother, orphaned in her youth from a band of crazed wanderers who spent more time in prison and the looney bin then in school, this was the mold from where she had been casted, free spending, unconcerned of consequence, bars became her education, her daycare, and mentor, though this woman did not fall prey to such temptations, the nature of libation became a mechanism of self defense, a way to ward off the spirits of culture, of natural selection, of having to care, this veil served as protection but in some ways aphyxiated her spiritual, personal, and social growth, soon enough she became an elderly woman who could no longer dream of tomorrow or even worry about today, but only think of how one day there would be no more sunshine, fear, need for wealth, suddenly everything would just end.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Among the Living
Re-introduction into the general population has not been an easy task, talking to the next person standing beside me outside of anything futher than the weather or how they liked my performance on the job can become uncomfortable immediately, little did this person know I had just rolled in earlier in the morning straight from having sex with some stripper in the back of a nightclub, rather random but certainly not out of the realm of the metropolis, life inside of it has its way of giving back in various means, not always ones that pay the bills or keep them from arriving, more like candy on Halloween, "Here you go son, been a good sort for a while, nice and distorted, doped up, zombified, embroiling the masses to act like possessed demons shot up with cocaine, viagra, and ambien, turn me loose, turn me loose, I got do it my way, or no way at all.", this is the banner, the slogan, and the signature tune, but how can I explain this to a car dealer executive who happens to work for a regional police force, the irony, here I am, in this room full of cops from all over North America unveiling the lastest in police car construction, an automobile that would make Robocop proud to own, a killing machine of the highest magnitude, designed with population control in mind, hidden gun turrets, laser guided missles, and computer software programs to reprocess even the most stubborn hacked into mind, portable wood chipper for those stray prostitutes and homeless who entertained a sense of entitlement when it comes to distributing crack or urinating on the streets of downtown where ever.
I could not find the bridge to gap my lastest sexual escapade with this all out military assualt, the idea of driving this new medium of residental destruction merited a personal exercise in order to see how far this automobile could be push, laws, civilians, and a general modicum of normality be damn, this is where law enforcement is heading, to video game status, why not, teens would be crazy to pass up such a chance, we have been breeding these kids to be masters of devastion, well guess what, the bill is due, sure a fair bit of this generation has already been ear marked for global affairs, but what about these cretins here in the United States, these dope smoking, free thinking, nationalized healthcare, and open immigration muthafuckers, they are running the streets, I am becoming a victim of fashion lifestyle, having to make choices on what particular kind of shower curtain shall accentuate my bathroom in hopes that it might make some women who comes over to my house comfortable enough to undress, hop in their and have sex afterwards. Damn it I am being corner, my claws will come out, like the badger, the rat, and the viper all rolled into one, these decisions on linens, furniture, and pastels is driving me crazy, I did not sign up for this, for this marketing ploy, to dress like some unisex mod robot, a walking manniquin with no morals, soul, or common sense, I am partially to blame, caught up in my own experiments with my surroundings, I can accept that, no problem, but shit, toiletries, designer jeans, and body wash with pheramones, spelled something like that, the soap generates sexual attraction, why has this particular item taken so long to create, what secret chambered laboratory hidden in the depths of middle earth has this boon to the economy been shelved, personally I was surprised that their was any of this sexual attraction inducing elixer left, figured a riot would breakout the second the substance hit the stores, my new weapon in the conquest of the female sex, my victory has been foreseen, the oracles of Delphi have never been known to be wrong.
I tried to talk to some co-workers today as well, the regular locals are not too bad, but even the closest of acquaintences can have the general overall sense of two random strangers set in a six by six room face to face, locked in and shocked everytime the overall room level drops below twenty decibles, so it becomes an obligation to talk, to think of something that has not already been disscussed a thousand times before, some joke that has not been repeated, or a story of seedy detail, the last one will usually get a few listeners as well as a few haters, in my industry, there are a few people who have taken it upon themselves to be crowned pimps, players, and/or party machines, though their days of doing any of the previous have long since ran their course. I do not take pride in my own endeavors, only a mere fact that they exist somewhat in my mind from what I can recall or others can vouch for, most of the time I don't even bother, cause many of my fellow co-workers turned in their players card years ago or did not get one in the mail back in junior high or high school, yet what is the point, isn't that what money is for, to get what you want, just study, get onboard with some idea, save some cash, invest, gamble, go big and win, afterwards, getting laid will be an after thought, just watch the women line up for an opportunity to get at you and the fortune, but if you are smart enough to get to that level, then brushing off a few high end pieces of pussy should be no problem, nothing a handful of hundreds can't usually cure.
I get fed a lot on these job, sort of how prisoners line up in the cafeteria, walk down the line, grab what you want, is it gourmet, no, is it free, sort of, eat at your own peril, stomach aches will soon follow, even at meal break it is tough to sit around co-workers while listening to them complain how their platnium status on their airline had been bumped down, stripping away the preferred white high class pampered comfort they have come to expect while being shuttled around from one corporate convention to the next,a few of the out of town words had been switched out of one hotel to another, sent to the haven of North Las Vegas, home of cheap crack and hookers, one of the out of town workers asked me if the area was dangerous, "Of course." I replied "A novice like yourself should go apply for temporary concealed weapons permit, cause where you are staying something like terriorial drug cartel war zone, where zombified meth addicts scratch through your walls as you sleep, armed with sharp knives and the intent of whoring you out to the highest paying black market organ dealer within five states. These meth addicts have these regional hotels staked out, locals know better than to stay in these place, jeez even the most harden of interstate truckers take a wide birth from these hotels, but for unsuspecting out of town waywarders like yourself, you are nothing but dinner on a plate, things will seem calm at first cause those meth addicts tend to burrow during the sunlight, but once the curtain comes down, all sorts of hell breaks, look, it will come on slow like the tide, rolling in up to the ankles, then the knees, then rapidly to the neck and then its too late, it seems they rather enjoy themselves with this particular activity having the entire night, so the chaos will start with the errant open window, a mysterious knock, look outside, there is no one for miles, dead silent, they will lull you too sleep even put some good television on the cable box for you, wow free porno, baseball, and unlimited internet access, lull you real good, go to shower, come out and the light on the other bed has been turned on and the first light off, well why waste anymore time, these bastards will jump through your window just as you fall off to sleep, in packs of ten, they like to work quickly, especially if NASCAR is in town, those folk just keep coming, no warning, only vacancy sign left in the whole city of Vegas, that power washer is working overtime to keep those rooms clean, so these meth addicts have to be real fast, clean, and effecient, habits must be supported."
My speech has not put his sense of paranoia at ease, in fact this guy is now contemplating paying out of pocket for a hotel on the Strip, a wiser choice indeed, the hookers are cleaner and the drugs purer, within a minute he has booked a room on his Iphone, saving his life and his wife the trouble of filling out numerous copies of paperwork attempting to explain how her husband had been dissected like a cow to slaughter for some meth addicts own selfish cravings.
I could not find the bridge to gap my lastest sexual escapade with this all out military assualt, the idea of driving this new medium of residental destruction merited a personal exercise in order to see how far this automobile could be push, laws, civilians, and a general modicum of normality be damn, this is where law enforcement is heading, to video game status, why not, teens would be crazy to pass up such a chance, we have been breeding these kids to be masters of devastion, well guess what, the bill is due, sure a fair bit of this generation has already been ear marked for global affairs, but what about these cretins here in the United States, these dope smoking, free thinking, nationalized healthcare, and open immigration muthafuckers, they are running the streets, I am becoming a victim of fashion lifestyle, having to make choices on what particular kind of shower curtain shall accentuate my bathroom in hopes that it might make some women who comes over to my house comfortable enough to undress, hop in their and have sex afterwards. Damn it I am being corner, my claws will come out, like the badger, the rat, and the viper all rolled into one, these decisions on linens, furniture, and pastels is driving me crazy, I did not sign up for this, for this marketing ploy, to dress like some unisex mod robot, a walking manniquin with no morals, soul, or common sense, I am partially to blame, caught up in my own experiments with my surroundings, I can accept that, no problem, but shit, toiletries, designer jeans, and body wash with pheramones, spelled something like that, the soap generates sexual attraction, why has this particular item taken so long to create, what secret chambered laboratory hidden in the depths of middle earth has this boon to the economy been shelved, personally I was surprised that their was any of this sexual attraction inducing elixer left, figured a riot would breakout the second the substance hit the stores, my new weapon in the conquest of the female sex, my victory has been foreseen, the oracles of Delphi have never been known to be wrong.
I tried to talk to some co-workers today as well, the regular locals are not too bad, but even the closest of acquaintences can have the general overall sense of two random strangers set in a six by six room face to face, locked in and shocked everytime the overall room level drops below twenty decibles, so it becomes an obligation to talk, to think of something that has not already been disscussed a thousand times before, some joke that has not been repeated, or a story of seedy detail, the last one will usually get a few listeners as well as a few haters, in my industry, there are a few people who have taken it upon themselves to be crowned pimps, players, and/or party machines, though their days of doing any of the previous have long since ran their course. I do not take pride in my own endeavors, only a mere fact that they exist somewhat in my mind from what I can recall or others can vouch for, most of the time I don't even bother, cause many of my fellow co-workers turned in their players card years ago or did not get one in the mail back in junior high or high school, yet what is the point, isn't that what money is for, to get what you want, just study, get onboard with some idea, save some cash, invest, gamble, go big and win, afterwards, getting laid will be an after thought, just watch the women line up for an opportunity to get at you and the fortune, but if you are smart enough to get to that level, then brushing off a few high end pieces of pussy should be no problem, nothing a handful of hundreds can't usually cure.
I get fed a lot on these job, sort of how prisoners line up in the cafeteria, walk down the line, grab what you want, is it gourmet, no, is it free, sort of, eat at your own peril, stomach aches will soon follow, even at meal break it is tough to sit around co-workers while listening to them complain how their platnium status on their airline had been bumped down, stripping away the preferred white high class pampered comfort they have come to expect while being shuttled around from one corporate convention to the next,a few of the out of town words had been switched out of one hotel to another, sent to the haven of North Las Vegas, home of cheap crack and hookers, one of the out of town workers asked me if the area was dangerous, "Of course." I replied "A novice like yourself should go apply for temporary concealed weapons permit, cause where you are staying something like terriorial drug cartel war zone, where zombified meth addicts scratch through your walls as you sleep, armed with sharp knives and the intent of whoring you out to the highest paying black market organ dealer within five states. These meth addicts have these regional hotels staked out, locals know better than to stay in these place, jeez even the most harden of interstate truckers take a wide birth from these hotels, but for unsuspecting out of town waywarders like yourself, you are nothing but dinner on a plate, things will seem calm at first cause those meth addicts tend to burrow during the sunlight, but once the curtain comes down, all sorts of hell breaks, look, it will come on slow like the tide, rolling in up to the ankles, then the knees, then rapidly to the neck and then its too late, it seems they rather enjoy themselves with this particular activity having the entire night, so the chaos will start with the errant open window, a mysterious knock, look outside, there is no one for miles, dead silent, they will lull you too sleep even put some good television on the cable box for you, wow free porno, baseball, and unlimited internet access, lull you real good, go to shower, come out and the light on the other bed has been turned on and the first light off, well why waste anymore time, these bastards will jump through your window just as you fall off to sleep, in packs of ten, they like to work quickly, especially if NASCAR is in town, those folk just keep coming, no warning, only vacancy sign left in the whole city of Vegas, that power washer is working overtime to keep those rooms clean, so these meth addicts have to be real fast, clean, and effecient, habits must be supported."
My speech has not put his sense of paranoia at ease, in fact this guy is now contemplating paying out of pocket for a hotel on the Strip, a wiser choice indeed, the hookers are cleaner and the drugs purer, within a minute he has booked a room on his Iphone, saving his life and his wife the trouble of filling out numerous copies of paperwork attempting to explain how her husband had been dissected like a cow to slaughter for some meth addicts own selfish cravings.
Halfway House
Need to get use to writing on a computer again, the powers that be have only allowed me pen and paper for business rehab trips, no technology, no Facebook, no social activity that does not involve face to face contact, no alcohol, no drugs, no late nights, with the exception of a brief stint at a Vegas hotel involving a relapse into behaviors of old, broken bottles, torn up rooms, and hurt feelings of which I tend to stay immune to with the help of drugs, alcohol, and some down home reckless abandon, but those ideas, constructs, intentions have been put back on the shelf, hopefully for good, still can't be too sure, cause all of this feels so day to day, minute to minute, where I need a crutch, something mask my hate, disgust, and fear of what I have become as well as what the world around me continues to evolve into every breathing second.
Still not all is bad, the authorities have placed me in a halfway house, my own personal environment to design with posters, office space, and even a microwave, its quiet, mostly elderly people around here, amazing my superiors would put me in such a deadzone without fear of turning it into a rave arena rock concert, yet the stillness has put me at ease, allowed me to sleep with some regularity without running out into the streets with my ass on fire until the early morning, the time change has done me some good and the powers have placed more responsibility on me in hopes it will eat up enough time for me to get my head back together, find some new direction that does not involve constant partying during off hours, right up until the clock for the next shift down at the production plant beckons my call.
Can also say my head hurts, my brain, I can feel it again, not necessarily emotions but the physical fact that there is some sort of mass under my greying hair, just how functional it may be has yet to be determined, a part of me has Parkinson peg for the future, so might as well write everything down before it slips away like the night in the rising dawn, calm, a bit jumpy at times could be due to stress, never have acknowledged it before, for the fact when in my industry, mere acknowledgement signals a sign of weakness and that will only result in competition engaging in various means of psychological warfare to unhinge me from my position, a hostile front is a well guarded front, the enemy will not go un-noticed unless the enemy happens to be me, then I shall turn a blind eye, but not anymore, I have imprisoned those self destructive, college frat partying, and angst ridden sarcastic attitudes, tired of holding this mantel, this worthless championship belt, for what, for being able to make an ass out of myself better than the next person, living the selfish juvenile bacholar's life, grinding everyone in my path into hamburger, some people love this about me, I have found myself at a point of recognition, due to age more than anyone particular human being, for most human beings are not worth much to begin with, nothing more than shoppers in the global economy, fuck machines for the next generation slaves who will do nothing more than take their place. Is that how you want to be remembered, for fucking, spending, and wasting away, not I.
So now what, kick the habits, clean up, get health insurance, and look both ways before I cross the street, seperating myself from dangerous repititive behavior puts me in a space I have not had much experience in up to now. Civilian, street clothed drone with briefcase in hand. These images have not gone away, the slow boxing in of humanity by our own stupid desires that will continually be fulfilled, too much money involved now, too many souless people who can offer up needs 24/7, why warn anyone, just jump on the money train and watch the cash roll in. This is part of my new deal, the only reason my superiors have not locked me up, stock options, equipment purchases, and blatant propoganda, the ministry of truth holds the deed to my soul, its value still to be determined, like an indentured servant, I have not been given the total sum, the committees are currently in the process of coming to a figure that shall return a generous profit for my services, there is talk of a retirement fund, maybe some work in global field, the bosses have their way of persuading me to buy into this whole routine, rather forced but, they have files on me and video, plenty of witness to send me into nonexistence pretty easily, terminate with extreme prejudice has been bounced around, the powers put the gun in my hand and ask me to kill, all sense of hope, change, and ideals, replacing them with sexual desire, material wealth, and corporate greed, my new philosophy, boredom, complacency, and fear of the unknown.
There was an attempt at setting me up with a new female partner, ran my course with the last one, I had been activated, no longer able to remain dormant, undercover, field work, thought I had my last good run of it in my twenties, but had been tapped to get back out into the darker, dirtier work, the degenerate lifestyle, investigate, document, and report, this last vestige of twisted freedom, had the cross hairs on it, mandate from headquarters, outright disregard for social and cultural standards had to be adhered to, this general movement toward recreational drug use was spearheading a movement to legalization of a various substances, who knows where it might end or worse, continue, even pharmasudical drugs have taken off into a world of their own, abusers have no preferrence just as long as it gets you fucked up, who cares whether it is Phizer or the drug dealer down the block. The new active was about as routine, bland, and well programmed as they get, had to put together a small software program that would adjust my actions and reactions to that of seventh grader, television, sitting on the couch watching movies, and a general mindless spirit of sex felt more like punishment then an award for kicking drugs, maybe I am being primed for something or someother active down the road, either way, the night out did not take, makes you begin to question your overall slot in the food chain of the singles scene which in Las Vegas has an intense arena of extremes.
My brain is still too wired for fun, for debauchry, for all out decadent commotion, fast lane, burn it at both ends until I can't remember anything at all, outside of waking up on a halfmade bed the next afternoon with the place in shambles, no recollection of how this might have happen, all to ready to move on before detection, put up the do not disturb sign, check out early, cancel the credit card, and buy a new cellphone, leave no trail or leads, strike the match, watch the flame, and fiddle away like Nero before the wolves arrive, no time now, others to burn down, crank up the energy, all those around me, accept too willingly encouraging my deposition to a point of intorable nature, you asked me here, so I came, laying waste to this wanton surrounding should not disturb you, in fact everyone asked for it to be done, said it had been long overdue, so why all the static now, all the negativity, such a joke, can't you hear me laughing at my own demise, can't you here me calling, shouting, screaming at how much I can no longer stand my actions, but everyone turns their back on the pleas, it's just Miller being Miller, if that is the case then why complain or intercede, stand back, we're gonna shut this mutha down.
Still not all is bad, the authorities have placed me in a halfway house, my own personal environment to design with posters, office space, and even a microwave, its quiet, mostly elderly people around here, amazing my superiors would put me in such a deadzone without fear of turning it into a rave arena rock concert, yet the stillness has put me at ease, allowed me to sleep with some regularity without running out into the streets with my ass on fire until the early morning, the time change has done me some good and the powers have placed more responsibility on me in hopes it will eat up enough time for me to get my head back together, find some new direction that does not involve constant partying during off hours, right up until the clock for the next shift down at the production plant beckons my call.
Can also say my head hurts, my brain, I can feel it again, not necessarily emotions but the physical fact that there is some sort of mass under my greying hair, just how functional it may be has yet to be determined, a part of me has Parkinson peg for the future, so might as well write everything down before it slips away like the night in the rising dawn, calm, a bit jumpy at times could be due to stress, never have acknowledged it before, for the fact when in my industry, mere acknowledgement signals a sign of weakness and that will only result in competition engaging in various means of psychological warfare to unhinge me from my position, a hostile front is a well guarded front, the enemy will not go un-noticed unless the enemy happens to be me, then I shall turn a blind eye, but not anymore, I have imprisoned those self destructive, college frat partying, and angst ridden sarcastic attitudes, tired of holding this mantel, this worthless championship belt, for what, for being able to make an ass out of myself better than the next person, living the selfish juvenile bacholar's life, grinding everyone in my path into hamburger, some people love this about me, I have found myself at a point of recognition, due to age more than anyone particular human being, for most human beings are not worth much to begin with, nothing more than shoppers in the global economy, fuck machines for the next generation slaves who will do nothing more than take their place. Is that how you want to be remembered, for fucking, spending, and wasting away, not I.
So now what, kick the habits, clean up, get health insurance, and look both ways before I cross the street, seperating myself from dangerous repititive behavior puts me in a space I have not had much experience in up to now. Civilian, street clothed drone with briefcase in hand. These images have not gone away, the slow boxing in of humanity by our own stupid desires that will continually be fulfilled, too much money involved now, too many souless people who can offer up needs 24/7, why warn anyone, just jump on the money train and watch the cash roll in. This is part of my new deal, the only reason my superiors have not locked me up, stock options, equipment purchases, and blatant propoganda, the ministry of truth holds the deed to my soul, its value still to be determined, like an indentured servant, I have not been given the total sum, the committees are currently in the process of coming to a figure that shall return a generous profit for my services, there is talk of a retirement fund, maybe some work in global field, the bosses have their way of persuading me to buy into this whole routine, rather forced but, they have files on me and video, plenty of witness to send me into nonexistence pretty easily, terminate with extreme prejudice has been bounced around, the powers put the gun in my hand and ask me to kill, all sense of hope, change, and ideals, replacing them with sexual desire, material wealth, and corporate greed, my new philosophy, boredom, complacency, and fear of the unknown.
There was an attempt at setting me up with a new female partner, ran my course with the last one, I had been activated, no longer able to remain dormant, undercover, field work, thought I had my last good run of it in my twenties, but had been tapped to get back out into the darker, dirtier work, the degenerate lifestyle, investigate, document, and report, this last vestige of twisted freedom, had the cross hairs on it, mandate from headquarters, outright disregard for social and cultural standards had to be adhered to, this general movement toward recreational drug use was spearheading a movement to legalization of a various substances, who knows where it might end or worse, continue, even pharmasudical drugs have taken off into a world of their own, abusers have no preferrence just as long as it gets you fucked up, who cares whether it is Phizer or the drug dealer down the block. The new active was about as routine, bland, and well programmed as they get, had to put together a small software program that would adjust my actions and reactions to that of seventh grader, television, sitting on the couch watching movies, and a general mindless spirit of sex felt more like punishment then an award for kicking drugs, maybe I am being primed for something or someother active down the road, either way, the night out did not take, makes you begin to question your overall slot in the food chain of the singles scene which in Las Vegas has an intense arena of extremes.
My brain is still too wired for fun, for debauchry, for all out decadent commotion, fast lane, burn it at both ends until I can't remember anything at all, outside of waking up on a halfmade bed the next afternoon with the place in shambles, no recollection of how this might have happen, all to ready to move on before detection, put up the do not disturb sign, check out early, cancel the credit card, and buy a new cellphone, leave no trail or leads, strike the match, watch the flame, and fiddle away like Nero before the wolves arrive, no time now, others to burn down, crank up the energy, all those around me, accept too willingly encouraging my deposition to a point of intorable nature, you asked me here, so I came, laying waste to this wanton surrounding should not disturb you, in fact everyone asked for it to be done, said it had been long overdue, so why all the static now, all the negativity, such a joke, can't you hear me laughing at my own demise, can't you here me calling, shouting, screaming at how much I can no longer stand my actions, but everyone turns their back on the pleas, it's just Miller being Miller, if that is the case then why complain or intercede, stand back, we're gonna shut this mutha down.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Columbus Gold
Stuck somewhere in the middle of wooden tree forest way past the outskirts of suburbia, an inlet, an island or oasis in its cheap flourencent glory. Not your typical strip club, in a not so typical town, not even a town but an outpost for degenerates like myself who need something to do on a Friday night when the local bar is not enough. Had Jerome with me, who has a reputation that cannot be doubted, an expert in the realm of young, single, and economically driven ladies who enjoy the concept of grinding their asses on cock for a living. So he had already attempted to scope out this spot but was intent on going to a much tamer spot, only to be talked out of it by the taxi driver, funnier still was his zest at the hotel, where he had not arrived only thirty minutes early from the airport where talk of doing some recon at a place called Cahoots was the order of the night, no other alternatives except some exploratory gash hounding, which in itself seems like the logical answer, have to get past the money thing, just throwing away a couple of hundred bucks, like watching an interactive movie, nudity, drama, and humor all thrown into one six hour night, so what does it matter, bank statements be damned.
All I had to do was get in the cab and get to the destination, then let things take their natural course. The ride took us to some middle of nowhere road that made me convinced our final destination might take us over the border into Canada, but thankfully that beacon of neon light revealed itself. No jackets, no guns or knives, so had to check those things in to the attractive young woman who must have been promoted to such a coat check position that had her on the front cover of the lastest Columbus Gold strip club 2010 calender, maybe she is screwing the boss, pimping the girls, getting a cut, felt like her finer days of stripping might be behind her, made some half ass promise about buying a calender, then having her sign it. Interior, standard, loose pink neon, mirrored walls with that clear seperation and distinction that gives you enough of a glimpse of all the half naked women on the other side of the door, where all the fun exists, just have to pay admission, bring some cash, and know what to say and not to say.
Grabbed a beer, ran into the feature dancer of the evening who commands more money than the rest of the ladies, now being the feature dancer in Columbus almost seemed ironic, I mean did she have a better boob job than the other women, she did, attractive blonde about five nine, could have been an business executive, did not fit the roll of mega XXX adult video starlet April Showers, as she had been billed as a woman who had been 300 sex videos, if you have seen a porno this woman had probably been in it according to the MC announcing her throughout the night, now April Showers was begginning to lose some of her luster, but why was I trying to fool myself that this woman was more than the prostitute the MC had made her out to be I almost felt ashamed later in the night that I had got with her, I mean she was a real fucking slut jeez, according to the MC, fuck it, she had a stint in Vegas which I had already figure, someone of her caliber probably had done sometime at Spearmint Rhino, she had the body, attitude, and charm of a professional who could empty the bank account of the most shrewd money hoarding guy with the most of vague promises concerning sex, so there goes the kids college fund and the retirement savings, she does not care, business is business, whether it is gambling, drugs, or sex. What you want a refund, you are funny, get the hell out of here, take those experiences, then head to rehab or to some sort of auto erotic finale.
I let her entertain me, not much of a feature especially by Vegas standard, routine cock rubber that is about it, even though she had more of a mind than most of them, but that is where the line between semi sexual obsession and career choice comes into play, she is getting paid to sit on guys faces for a living and if the money is right maybe fuck a one or two, that street gets dark fast, yet she seemed to have it under control. Jerome is off hiding in a corner after spotting a woman he has develop a sort of teenage youthful crush for, maybe he is holding back in hopes of not committing a series of felonies that would land us both in jail and the unemployment line, my thought is why fight the urge, if her final act includes going head first into the wood chipper then so be it, people act on such instinct and their are federal prisons for those types, maybe the streets, and at best a local tavern to work out on the road trash that filters through. After a bit of alcohol Jerome has been pinned down by a great mix of Cuban, Spanish, and African beauty of a woman, but somehow I get the bill for the services, a common theme throughout the night, might have had something to do with buying the woman a 20 dollar drink, what!, she got a cut, something to pass the time where she could sit down between putting her hand down my pants, mentioned South Beach and her in a thong bikini, something similar she was wearing, minus the pasties, it was like every woman in the place had nipple surgery, cracked me up, I ripped hers off after a while, this did not sit well with the local muscle inside the place, nothing but damn band aids, get off my case, these nipples must be liberated, all of them, women unite, do not fall victim to covered up nipples, my infant like instincts are coming to the forefront, need to suck and bite on those nipples, it is part of the deal, from my experiences at various strip clubs throughout the world.
Anyhow, Jerome is like a multi armed Shiva who appears to have the instinct of a sexual predator who cannot get enough pussy, as if he had just rolled of a 25 year stint in the slammer and is having his first contact with a woman. I find the entire event quite funny except for the bill, but Jerome provides countless entertainment in his white grey afro, glasses and general disposition of carnal knowledge that would make anyone from the Hellfire Club or Sex Addicts Anonymous envious, the DJ calls him Einstein, how thought provoking for a person who habitually falls asleep in his doorway at any given hotel, not to hold this over his head, but
Jerome is real A-Team material, he might shy away intinally, but get a few drinks in him and its like riding a bike, just hop back on and let the ladies come on down. No morals, standards, or ideals except to get his finger in as many twats as possible, he has a real sauve sort of flow being that middle aged guy with decades of experience in strip clubs, he knows what to say and what to do, once the deal goes down, infact he has looted every girl I have pulled down tonight, now some young 22 year old college student with an ass that would make frat boys run for cover, but those tuitions must get paid, we are near Ohio State University, so why not, let these ladies finance their future with some rub and tugs, this is how it goes for the masses who actually get let through the golden gate to higher education, who have somehow ditched all the pregancies, meth addictions, and abusive parents to sit a class of 800 students wondering is this really how I am supposed to get a corporate respectable job, hmmmm, maybe stripping for a living is not such a bad alternative, maybe not, in Ohio probably not, in Vegas, why not, gonna go insane living here anyway, where every guy treats you like a piece of meat, get something out of it, sure, sounds good, let it flow, let yourself go, slow and low that is the tempo.
Somehow I am taking Cuban stripper to Miami now, not Miami OH, but FLA, she used to live in SoBe, South Beach, I can see why, this woman is knockout, why she is at Columbus Gold tonight is something only she can answer, so have to go the Facebook route, which seems to be the new screening route for the ladies to determine whether or not a guy is creep, serial sociopath, or bankable, that last term comes via TMZ, the concept of being bankable make want to get wasted, this is what life has come down to, fuck all, nothing else matters, what does the wallet have in it, but why be jaded, just break out the cocaine and all of a sudden bankable turns into drug dependency, intercourse soon to follow, fine, everyone has their methods and their means so embrace the angle, the leverage and if it does not work then, move on to the next slab of vaginal slit, break it down my man, this is what life revolves around, a tough wire to walk, the pressure, rather travel the world, but who gives a fuck about that anymore, so here I am in this low rent strip club doing time, covering the event, keeping an eye on Jerome, making sure he gets back to the hotel.
Every half an hour they have a revue, a parade of sorts where they put on some cheesy Jock Jams like music then send the girls out in their best gear, like college cheerleaders, not the real cheerleaders, but the girls who are hot enough but not athletic enough be the real skirt wearing cheerleaders, so they doll them up in the tightest fitting clothes possible, of which I am a big fan, locally we have the Rebel Girls who have been of much debate of the years where Cocaine had gone out of fancy and they have seem to take up buffets and alcoholism, since the days where myself and my friends who go to the games have graduated, no more Coked out teenage girls shaking their tight pussies for the degenerates in the student section who were hatching plans of how to get them wasted enough at fraternity parties, hit it, then laugh about it with their friends at the next game, quite a life indeed. The strip club appears to have hit a wall, plenty of pussy face plants on the stage, if only for effect, cause the dude laid on the stage face up, for a buck or two he got more action from April Showers than I did, so now I had to digest that entire experience of taking money and throwing it away, but I look at it sort of as an investment in April Showers Inc. who knows when that hooker will roll through Vegas, they always need a place to stay and my new condo would make the appropriate hideout, for mere trade, skin trade, sounds like a winner to me, so off goes April showers in her Little Bo Peep outfit, meanwhile the 22 year old white girl has scared Jerome away, he is intimidated, starts running for a corner in the back of the club, what is this. his ceramonial ritual of cut and run, then slowly crawl back to the fire put his finger in it and see how long he can keep it against the flame, well don't be a sissy about it, so I have to grab him by the shoulders and sit him down in a chair so Danille can rub her pussy in his face.
Most of the girls are without boob jobs which seems so unfamilar, almost like being in high school again, it has my interest, especially in a society where most high end strippers and low end strippers have boob jobs, standard operating procedure today, except here, so it has its angle, its fun, like Tijuana high school weekend, when it was fresh and not so water down like tonight has become, but I am nothing more than part of Jerome's fan club, it is quite a large one, in a business where all my elders are rock stars, so quitting is not an option, duty must be adhered, then followed, but time to get out of here, find my claim check at the bottom of the bar, then watch Jerome get bounced when Danille offers up her pussy for a quick tongue cleaning, Jerome is one to oblige which gets our coats turned up a bit faster than normal, he is snoring in the cab within minutes, I get him to his room, paying my dues to my heroes, my inspiration, the line he walks his one of fire, no fear, and embraces our impending mortality, something we should all aspire to follow.
All I had to do was get in the cab and get to the destination, then let things take their natural course. The ride took us to some middle of nowhere road that made me convinced our final destination might take us over the border into Canada, but thankfully that beacon of neon light revealed itself. No jackets, no guns or knives, so had to check those things in to the attractive young woman who must have been promoted to such a coat check position that had her on the front cover of the lastest Columbus Gold strip club 2010 calender, maybe she is screwing the boss, pimping the girls, getting a cut, felt like her finer days of stripping might be behind her, made some half ass promise about buying a calender, then having her sign it. Interior, standard, loose pink neon, mirrored walls with that clear seperation and distinction that gives you enough of a glimpse of all the half naked women on the other side of the door, where all the fun exists, just have to pay admission, bring some cash, and know what to say and not to say.
Grabbed a beer, ran into the feature dancer of the evening who commands more money than the rest of the ladies, now being the feature dancer in Columbus almost seemed ironic, I mean did she have a better boob job than the other women, she did, attractive blonde about five nine, could have been an business executive, did not fit the roll of mega XXX adult video starlet April Showers, as she had been billed as a woman who had been 300 sex videos, if you have seen a porno this woman had probably been in it according to the MC announcing her throughout the night, now April Showers was begginning to lose some of her luster, but why was I trying to fool myself that this woman was more than the prostitute the MC had made her out to be I almost felt ashamed later in the night that I had got with her, I mean she was a real fucking slut jeez, according to the MC, fuck it, she had a stint in Vegas which I had already figure, someone of her caliber probably had done sometime at Spearmint Rhino, she had the body, attitude, and charm of a professional who could empty the bank account of the most shrewd money hoarding guy with the most of vague promises concerning sex, so there goes the kids college fund and the retirement savings, she does not care, business is business, whether it is gambling, drugs, or sex. What you want a refund, you are funny, get the hell out of here, take those experiences, then head to rehab or to some sort of auto erotic finale.
I let her entertain me, not much of a feature especially by Vegas standard, routine cock rubber that is about it, even though she had more of a mind than most of them, but that is where the line between semi sexual obsession and career choice comes into play, she is getting paid to sit on guys faces for a living and if the money is right maybe fuck a one or two, that street gets dark fast, yet she seemed to have it under control. Jerome is off hiding in a corner after spotting a woman he has develop a sort of teenage youthful crush for, maybe he is holding back in hopes of not committing a series of felonies that would land us both in jail and the unemployment line, my thought is why fight the urge, if her final act includes going head first into the wood chipper then so be it, people act on such instinct and their are federal prisons for those types, maybe the streets, and at best a local tavern to work out on the road trash that filters through. After a bit of alcohol Jerome has been pinned down by a great mix of Cuban, Spanish, and African beauty of a woman, but somehow I get the bill for the services, a common theme throughout the night, might have had something to do with buying the woman a 20 dollar drink, what!, she got a cut, something to pass the time where she could sit down between putting her hand down my pants, mentioned South Beach and her in a thong bikini, something similar she was wearing, minus the pasties, it was like every woman in the place had nipple surgery, cracked me up, I ripped hers off after a while, this did not sit well with the local muscle inside the place, nothing but damn band aids, get off my case, these nipples must be liberated, all of them, women unite, do not fall victim to covered up nipples, my infant like instincts are coming to the forefront, need to suck and bite on those nipples, it is part of the deal, from my experiences at various strip clubs throughout the world.
Anyhow, Jerome is like a multi armed Shiva who appears to have the instinct of a sexual predator who cannot get enough pussy, as if he had just rolled of a 25 year stint in the slammer and is having his first contact with a woman. I find the entire event quite funny except for the bill, but Jerome provides countless entertainment in his white grey afro, glasses and general disposition of carnal knowledge that would make anyone from the Hellfire Club or Sex Addicts Anonymous envious, the DJ calls him Einstein, how thought provoking for a person who habitually falls asleep in his doorway at any given hotel, not to hold this over his head, but
Jerome is real A-Team material, he might shy away intinally, but get a few drinks in him and its like riding a bike, just hop back on and let the ladies come on down. No morals, standards, or ideals except to get his finger in as many twats as possible, he has a real sauve sort of flow being that middle aged guy with decades of experience in strip clubs, he knows what to say and what to do, once the deal goes down, infact he has looted every girl I have pulled down tonight, now some young 22 year old college student with an ass that would make frat boys run for cover, but those tuitions must get paid, we are near Ohio State University, so why not, let these ladies finance their future with some rub and tugs, this is how it goes for the masses who actually get let through the golden gate to higher education, who have somehow ditched all the pregancies, meth addictions, and abusive parents to sit a class of 800 students wondering is this really how I am supposed to get a corporate respectable job, hmmmm, maybe stripping for a living is not such a bad alternative, maybe not, in Ohio probably not, in Vegas, why not, gonna go insane living here anyway, where every guy treats you like a piece of meat, get something out of it, sure, sounds good, let it flow, let yourself go, slow and low that is the tempo.
Somehow I am taking Cuban stripper to Miami now, not Miami OH, but FLA, she used to live in SoBe, South Beach, I can see why, this woman is knockout, why she is at Columbus Gold tonight is something only she can answer, so have to go the Facebook route, which seems to be the new screening route for the ladies to determine whether or not a guy is creep, serial sociopath, or bankable, that last term comes via TMZ, the concept of being bankable make want to get wasted, this is what life has come down to, fuck all, nothing else matters, what does the wallet have in it, but why be jaded, just break out the cocaine and all of a sudden bankable turns into drug dependency, intercourse soon to follow, fine, everyone has their methods and their means so embrace the angle, the leverage and if it does not work then, move on to the next slab of vaginal slit, break it down my man, this is what life revolves around, a tough wire to walk, the pressure, rather travel the world, but who gives a fuck about that anymore, so here I am in this low rent strip club doing time, covering the event, keeping an eye on Jerome, making sure he gets back to the hotel.
Every half an hour they have a revue, a parade of sorts where they put on some cheesy Jock Jams like music then send the girls out in their best gear, like college cheerleaders, not the real cheerleaders, but the girls who are hot enough but not athletic enough be the real skirt wearing cheerleaders, so they doll them up in the tightest fitting clothes possible, of which I am a big fan, locally we have the Rebel Girls who have been of much debate of the years where Cocaine had gone out of fancy and they have seem to take up buffets and alcoholism, since the days where myself and my friends who go to the games have graduated, no more Coked out teenage girls shaking their tight pussies for the degenerates in the student section who were hatching plans of how to get them wasted enough at fraternity parties, hit it, then laugh about it with their friends at the next game, quite a life indeed. The strip club appears to have hit a wall, plenty of pussy face plants on the stage, if only for effect, cause the dude laid on the stage face up, for a buck or two he got more action from April Showers than I did, so now I had to digest that entire experience of taking money and throwing it away, but I look at it sort of as an investment in April Showers Inc. who knows when that hooker will roll through Vegas, they always need a place to stay and my new condo would make the appropriate hideout, for mere trade, skin trade, sounds like a winner to me, so off goes April showers in her Little Bo Peep outfit, meanwhile the 22 year old white girl has scared Jerome away, he is intimidated, starts running for a corner in the back of the club, what is this. his ceramonial ritual of cut and run, then slowly crawl back to the fire put his finger in it and see how long he can keep it against the flame, well don't be a sissy about it, so I have to grab him by the shoulders and sit him down in a chair so Danille can rub her pussy in his face.
Most of the girls are without boob jobs which seems so unfamilar, almost like being in high school again, it has my interest, especially in a society where most high end strippers and low end strippers have boob jobs, standard operating procedure today, except here, so it has its angle, its fun, like Tijuana high school weekend, when it was fresh and not so water down like tonight has become, but I am nothing more than part of Jerome's fan club, it is quite a large one, in a business where all my elders are rock stars, so quitting is not an option, duty must be adhered, then followed, but time to get out of here, find my claim check at the bottom of the bar, then watch Jerome get bounced when Danille offers up her pussy for a quick tongue cleaning, Jerome is one to oblige which gets our coats turned up a bit faster than normal, he is snoring in the cab within minutes, I get him to his room, paying my dues to my heroes, my inspiration, the line he walks his one of fire, no fear, and embraces our impending mortality, something we should all aspire to follow.
Academy Awards Redemption
Thankfully the people who vote on such things were not baited by all the hi tech 21st century masqarade effects that might have persauded a less ambitious group of people to be swooned by the lastest edition of popcorn movie going. Real emotion, real passion, tears, angst, fear, and an overall lack of relation with contemporary society exists and needs to be recognized, raw, intelligent filmakers cannot be crushed, they must be seen and uplifted, nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, all the drugs, drink, and television cannot masked the insanity of living in this modern world. The Hurt Locker has a quality to it, all the masters of cinema dead or alive can get behind and I was really afraid this movie might not get its due, which after seeing in the movie theater made me believe in story telling once more that creative people did not have to become slaves to all the gadgets which have made blockbuster fodder so popular, film making is not about mass consumption, Akira Kurosawa. Bergman, Antonioni, Fellini, and Godard understood character, humanity, and all its faults rolled into one persona or a slate of personas within one human being, one town, or one world, this something that has escaped the lens of most film makers in this day and age, times are fast, dark, and unforgiving, but also elegant, charming, and thankfully humorous. The yin and yang of theater: laugh today, cry tomorrow, since Greek tragedy that thing called the soul must be addressed, not ignored, the wonder as well as the experience of waking up everyday with the addiction of immersing oneself into the sometimes turbulant seas of our world is the only real lesson we have left and once we abandoned it, all will be lost, so walk through the fire bravely and know it is a fine task to undertake.
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